The Duchess Deal (Girl Meets Duke, #1)

by Tessa Dare

Ash gestured toward the door. “I should really—” “Go manage your dukedom,” Emma finished, smoothing her frock. “Yes, I know. Leaving you alone was my forfeit.”

As she tucked herself under the quilts and blankets, she admitted the truth. She wasn’t nervous. She was impatient. She wanted to feel his touch again, quite desperately. Not only his touch, but his tenderness. He might be snappish and aggravating during the day, but in the darkness last night, he’d seemed an entirely different man. Patient, respectful. Sensual.

He entered without waiting for her answer. “Tonight, this will be all business,” he announced. “In. Out. Done.” Possibly the least seductive words imaginable, but Emma was apparently a madwoman, because they excited her all the same.

“Good God,” he said. “You’re naked.” Well, this wasn’t off to the most promising start. “Why would you be naked?” Had she heard him correctly? Had he truly just asked why she would be naked? How could this even be a question? “I didn’t disrobe last night only because I thought you might want to undress me.” He was silent. “Shall I undress you?” she asked. “No.” And then, with a tone of resignation, “Let’s just get on with it.”

She pushed up on her elbow. “What am I doing wrong? Surely your previous lovers were active participants in the act.” “Yes, but they were experienced. A few of them professionals. You’re a wife.

You’re not supposed to enjoy this, you’re supposed to lie there and endure it.”

The rigid column of his manhood connected with her belly, sliding downward on the thin sheen of oil. The feeling of his steely hardness against her aroused sex . . . it nearly undid her, there and then. She whimpered with frustrated desire, rolling her hips to seek more contact. He froze again. “Don’t stop,” she begged, breathless. “Please. I’m fine. I promise. I’m very, very, very fine.” He hushed her. “Don’t make a move.” “Why not?” “Because we’re not alone.”

Ash found himself staring into a pair of firelit eyes, glittering at him from the corner of the room. The base of his spine tingled. His heartbeat went from a gallop to a standstill. An intruder. How the devil had someone slipped in?

Something that felt like a dozen razor-sharp barbs pierced straight through his nightshirt, digging into his shoulder and arm. He gave a stunned shout of pain. Emma flung back the bedclothes. “Breeches! Breeches, no!” The cat? Claws. Teeth. Hissing. The cat. Ash stumbled from the bed and whirled in a backward circle, whipping his arm to shake off the beast, all while guarding his breeding organs with the other hand. He could afford to lose a lot of bits, but not those.

From the bed, Emma shouted and pleaded with the hellish creature, to no avail. She heaved a pillow, which hit Ash in the face and did nothing to dislodge the demon she’d brought into his house. His next lashing attempt cleared the dressing table of anything that could break into tiny shards, as his bare feet quickly learned. He flung himself against the bedpost repeatedly, trying to startle the thing into letting go.

Ash was ready to plunge his arm, cat and all, into the fire—what were a few more burns, after all—but burning fur was a disgusting scent, and he was just decent enough to balk at the idea of murdering Emma’s pet before her very eyes. No, he would take it out into the garden tomorrow and murder it there. At the moment, however, he just needed the cursed thing off.

“Are you bleeding?” Emma asked. “Only in about twenty places.” He touched his shoulder, wincing. His fingers came away wet. “The fly-bitten measle.” She fell back onto the bed with a pitiable sigh. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was even in the room.” “Mark my words,” Ash said grimly. “Tomorrow night, he will not be.”

“What are you doing?” “Shh.” He raised an open palm in her direction. “No sudden movements.” “All right.” She drew out the words, kicking off her slippers and making her way into the room on stocking feet, sitting next to him on the floor. She folded her legs beneath her skirts and stared into the fireplace, too. “What are we looking at?” she whispered. “Your cat. The little beast is hiding behind the grate. We’ve been waiting one another out.”

“You’re going to lock Breeches in a trunk?” “For the night, yes. Doors don’t seem to contain the beast.” “With no food, no water?” “I made air holes. And believe me, he’s fortunate to get that much.” “But . . . why?” “Is it not obvious?” For the first time since she’d entered the library, he slid a glance toward her. “Because I intend to impregnate you tonight, or make a valiant attempt at it. And this time, there will be no interruption.” He turned back to regarding the grate.

“Where did you acquire the habit of cursing with such imagination?” He reached for another sandwich. “For that, you can thank my father. The summer I was nine, my mother overheard me utter some foul words I’d learned at school. My father drew me aside and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was an educated gentleman and he never wanted to hear me use such crude language again. He said, ‘Blaspheme as you will, but at least use words from Shakespeare.’ I’d read all the plays by the summer’s end.”

“Quite ingenious of him.” “He was a wise man. A good man. I may not be a wise or good man, but I at least possess a sense of duty. His legacy, and everything and everyone he protected, has fallen to me. I won’t let that wither and die.”

“What about your parents? You mentioned leaving home for London at a tender age. What was that about?” She chewed a bite slowly. “The usual. Strict discipline. Youthful rebellion. Words exchanged that couldn’t be taken back.” “That,” he said, “was not an answer.” “Yes, it was. You asked a question. I replied. With words and everything.” “I gave you details. Ages, events . . . feelings. I cracked open my soul.”

“Now,” he said. “I am going to ring for a footman to clear this tray and place the cat under lock, key, bolt, and guard. Then I’m going to go upstairs, find a fresh shirt, and rinse the soot from my hands. In all, I estimate that will occupy three minutes.” His intense eyes caught hers. “That’s how much time you have.” “How much time to what?” “To make ready. Before I come to your room and pin you flat against the bed.” “Oh.”

“Make haste, Emma. You’re down to two and a half minutes now.” Emma swallowed hard. Then she turned and ran.

Emma didn’t bother to retrieve her slippers. She dashed on stocking feet for the staircase, gathering her skirts in both hands to lift them out of the way. When she reached her suite, she chased away the maid and went directly to the bedchamber. As she rushed, she tugged at the buttons of her frock with one hand and went about snuffing candles with the licked fingertips of her other, leaving only the dim firelight. She still didn’t see any reason for darkness, but she didn’t wish to waste time arguing. Not tonight. She’d barely succeeded in loosening her bodice when he opened the door. No knock. No greeting. He was true to his word.

He strode to her, put his hands on her waist, lifted her off her feet, and tossed her onto the bed. Her breath left her. When the capability returned to her hands, she fumbled to find her buttons and continue disrobing. “Don’t bother,” he said, in a gruff, commanding voice. Very well, then.

She never would have guessed she’d find this curt, brutish treatment arousing . . . but she did. Oh, she did. He was capable of patience and tenderness. He’d demonstrated as much downstairs with the cat. The knowledge made her feel safe, even if he overwhelmed her now. Besides, she knew from experience, he’d stop the moment she expressed the slightest discomfort. She didn’t want him to stop. He stood at the foot of the bed, a dark silhouette, wrestling with t...

making certain. Before I do this.” “Do what?” He cupped one of her breasts and lifted it. She felt a cool swipe across her nipple. He’d licked her. She jolted with the keenness of the sensation. “I thought you had a rule,” she gasped. “No kissing.” “This isn’t kissing. It’s licking.” Another gliding caress—warm this time—swirling in terrible, wonderful circles. “And sucking.” He pulled her nipple into his mouth, drawing on her with no mercy.

She reached instinctively to grip his shoulders, remembering too late he didn’t wish to be touched. He sat up, caught her hands, and pushed them back against the mattress on either side of her head. “We discussed this.” “I know. I’m sorry, I forgot. I can’t think when you touch me that way. Or when you touch me this way, for that matter.”

“Don’t forget it again,” he said in a low, thrilling voice. “Or I’ll be forced to tie you to the bed.” At the suggestion, her intimate muscles fluttered. “Is that meant to be a threat? Because I . . . I don’t seem to find the idea entirely objectionable.” “You don’t?” She licked her bottom lip. “Well, you’re very good at this, apparently. And what with the dark . . . It’s all very shadowy and sensual. Like one of those feverish dreams one has on a hot summer’s night.” “This is something you’d dream about. Being pawed by a hulking stranger in the dark.” Emma squeaked out her tentative reply. “Maybe?” Unbearable moments passed in silence. “You are incredible.”

Instead of shifting his weight to move atop her, he lowered himself onto one elbow. She felt his tongue again. Not on her nipple this time. There. She couldn’t help it now. Her body convulsed with pleasure, arching and twisting beneath his mouth.

He licked her over and over, spinning her into new landscapes of arousal with languid strokes of his tongue. All the while, he kept up rhythmic thrusts with his fingers, hitting a place deep inside her that made her clutch the bed linens in her fists.

Emma didn’t know how much more she could take. But even if she wished to beg him for mercy, what would she cry out? Duke? Ashbury? No. She refused. Intimate moments called for intimate address, and she feared his wrath if she tried “dear” or “darling” or “precious angel muffin” instead. No, there would be no begging for mercy. She surrendered to the pleasure, letting him nudge her c...

Don’t stop. As if she needed to tell him so. Ash would not have stopped for anything. Never mind a feral cat. The royal menagerie could crash down the chimney, and he would not have lifted his head from his task. She was so close. He could feel it. He could taste it. And as badly as she needed to come, he needed her to come even more.

Bringing a woman to orgasm had always been a particular pleasure for him. With most women he’d known, even if no deep affection was involved, a climax required a bit more than a skilled tongue and fingers. It took closeness, trust. Intimacy. Feeling a woman come beneath his hand, his mouth, his body—well, it made him feel like king of the planet, of course—but it also made him feel connected. Human.

Then she arched her hips and began to ride his tongue in a halting rhythm, chasing her own bliss. The unbearable sweetness made him moan. His already hard cock pulsed with impatience. Now. By the gods, let it be now. She gasped, her full body tensing as the pleasure took her. The wet heat of her sex squeezed his fingers. He savored each shudder, each soft, lovely sigh.

and pushed. Then he was in her. And in her. And God, so exquisitely deep in her—and still he wanted more. He couldn’t help but groan. He began to thrust in earnest, working himself further and further into that narrow tunnel of heat.

She made a bridge of her body, lifting her hips to connect his pelvis to hers. “That’s it,” he whispered between shaky breaths. “Just like that.” He worked both hands beneath her bottom and lifted it, tilting her hips. Her body yielded to him a fraction more, and he sank home.

“Emma.” When he called to her, her body tightened deliciously around his cock. So he did it again. “Emma.” The pleasure was keen, slicing through him like a knife. He gritted his teeth. “Emma.” Words were beyond him after that. He squeezed her plump little bottom in both hands and took her hard and fast, relentless in his race to the peak.

And then he came. He came hard, spending into her with fierce joy. His hips jerked with each wrenching spasm. The climax seemed to go on and on, approaching forever. And yet it wasn’t nearly enough. He collapsed on the bed beside her, weakened and emptied. If he’d known taking a wife would be like this, he would have married ages ago. Of course, marrying ages ago would have meant taking a different wife. He wasn’t certain wives like this one abounded. He turned his head to face her in the dark. “Where on earth did you come from?” She was silent for a long moment. “Hertfordshire.”

really must give me something to call you,” she said. “If we go on like this, I’m going to need a name to cry out, and I don’t think you want it to be honeybee.” “Just try it, blossom.” He sat up in bed. “But if you insist on something else, just use Ash. It’s what my friends call me.” Or called me, when I still had friends. He reached for his trousers. “You don’t mean to leave me,” she said. “After that?”

Her obvious satisfaction swelled his pride, but staying the night was out of the question. He was not going to allow her to wake up beside him in the full light of day, mere inches from his mangled face, let alone the wreckage that remained of his neck, chest, shoulder. Not now, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

She’d think she’d woken from a nightmare. She’d shrink from him. Run from the room. Worse had happened before. Unless she was pregnant with his child, he could not take that risk. And once she was pregnant, they were done. The sooner that happened, the better. He left her room on wobbly legs,...

“Do keep trying with your cat. The creatures most difficult to reach make the most loving companions in the end.” Emma felt a sharp twinge of irony. She had no doubt in Penny’s ability to tame not only cats, but pups and goats and Highland calves and even traumatized hedgehogs. But the duke she’d married was a different sort of beast.

“Oh, hullo.” “What is this?” “I’m taking down these draperies.” “Alone?” He crossed the room and put his hands on the ladder. Someone had to be near her in case she tumbled and fell. “Sorry if I alarmed you with all that noise. I lost my grip on the finial.” She’d lost her grip on the finial. Bully for her. Ash was losing his grip on his sanity.

With a flick of his wrist, he wrapped the fabric around his left forearm, just as he’d do with the reins when driving a team. And then he braced his legs, flexed his arm, and gave a full-strength pull. She came reeling toward him. He caught her in his arms.

“That’s shockingly caring of you.” “It’s not caring.” “Then how would you describe it?” “As . . . something else.” Anything else. Imagining her naked was only natural. Protecting her was his duty. Caring was much too dangerous. “I don’t know. I’m not a dictionary.” She gave him a chastening yet affectionate look. A wifely look. “No, you aren’t. You are very much a man.”

She looked down at her hand, cradled in his. Then she turned it over, so that their palms pressed together and their fingers interlaced in a tight clasp. Sunlight gilded the wisps of hair framing her face. Her dark eyes were wide, sincere. Unafraid. So lovely. Her gaze met his and held it, never straying to his patchy hair or his twisted cheek. The moment was glorious. And wonderful. And accompanied by soaring orchestral music.

Ash cleared his throat. “This, uh . . . This thing we’re doing is probably a bad idea.” “Yes. Yes, of course. Precautions.” Her hand slipped from his. “I’ll order a wardrobe tomorrow.” He stepped away. “You’ll order a wardrobe later in the week. Tomorrow we’re taking an outing.” “An outing? To where?” “Swanlea. Your future house.” Before she could grow too excited, he held up a hand. “Not to stay.

“It’s on the small side,” the duke said. “Only twelve rooms.” She slid a look at him. Only?

wasteful.” “Think like a duchess, Emma. Cleaning, furnishing, and repairing the home will give employment to dozens of people, many of them in dire need. It’s not wasteful. It’s patronage.” “Yes, of course.” She bit her lip. “I hadn’t seen it that way.”

Here was the man’s single indisputable virtue. He was always thinking of the people who depended on him. He would not have married Emma otherwise. It was for their good that he wanted to quickly produce an heir.

“Best fishing on any of the ducal properties. Across the way, there’s an excellent chestnut tree for climbing. It’s a good place to raise a boy.” He clearly spoke from experience. The house had been closed twenty years, had he said? That made sense. It would have been shut up after his parents died. It was difficult to imagine him ever climbing chestnut trees and splashing about in a stream. But even the most imposing of men had once been a boy.

“Oh, dear. I have a bad feeling about this.” “Don’t fret. He’s an experienced coachman. He won’t have encountered any serious difficulty.” “That’s not what I mean. I have a bad feeling that Jonas won’t return tonight at all. Not because of an accident, but on purpose.” “What possible purpose could that be?”

“It’s the servants. All of them. They have formed this silly notion that if they force us together, we’ll . . .” “We’ll what?” “Fall in love.” “Fall in love?” Ash couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s—” “Absurd,” she finished. “Of course it is. I tried to tell them as much. It’s not going to happen, I said.” “The very idea is—” “Ridiculous. I know.